his mates had
struck up such a remarkable friendship with some of these Highland
regiments now camped near them. "Well, I think it's their sense of
humour," he said.

We looked at him rather hard.

"You see, they can understand our jokes," he said. "They don't seem to
take us too serious like."

And I think he had just hit it. The Australian has a habit of pulling
his mate's leg, and being on his guard against a leg-pull in return. He
has sharpened his conversation against the conversation of his friends
from the time he could speak--his uncles are generally to blame for it;
they started him on the path of repartee by pulling his legs before
those same legs had learnt to walk. As a result he is always sparring in
conversation--does not mean to be taken seriously. And the Scotsman,
cautious and always on the look-out for a feint, is seldom caught by it.
If he is, the chances are he gives it back--with interest.

It is a grim, old, dry variety of humour, and it goes with a wonderful,
grim, sturdy nature. Few people here see a Scottish regiment passing
without waiting, if they have the time, to watch the last square figure
disappear down the road. Many look at the perfect swing of the kilts,
and the strong bare knees. For myself I can never take my eyes off
their faces. There is a stalwart independence in their strong mouths and
foreheads and chins which rivets one's interest. Every face is different
from the next. Each man seems to be thinking for himself, and ready to
stand up for his own decision against the world. There is a sort of
reasoned determination uniting them into a single whole, which, one
thinks, must be a very terrible sort of whole to meet in anger.

And it is. The Scotsman is, I think, the most unrelenting fighter that I
have come across. The Australian is a most fierce fighter in battle, but
he is quite ready to make friends afterwards with his enemy. Once he has
taken a German prisoner, he is apt to treat him more liberally than most
troops--more so even, I think, than the English soldier--and that is
saying a good deal. To the Scotsman, when he escorts his prisoners home,
those prisoners are Germans still. He has never forgotten the tremendous
losses which Scottish regiments suffered at the beginning of the war. He
does not feel kindly towards the men who inflicted them. With the
Australian, once the fight is over, the bitterness is left behind. The
Scotsman makes prisoners, but he does not make f